


Uneasy Lies the Head

by frankenmouse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Short, TBC?, but only a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenmouse/pseuds/frankenmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Alistair is made sole ruler...who does he have left? A brief character exploration piece from the point of view of an outsider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uneasy Lies the Head

            Leaning against the stone wall, Tamra sighed and decided that she had to face the facts. She was lost. She couldn’t blame herself too much, she’d only been here a few weeks after all, but it was going to be hideously embarrassing to have to stop and ask someone for directions. She was a member of the palace guard. Even if she was a new recruit she should have _some_ idea of how the place was laid out. Blight it, she’d gotten into this mess hoping to _avoid_ embarrassment.

            Memory made her face hot with shame. It wasn’t her fault that she’d never used a sword and shield before. She’d grown up on a blighted farm. Where, exactly, was she supposed to have gotten arms and armor? Besides, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what she was doing. She was, admittedly, the only one who had managed to nearly cut her own arm off when she’d somehow gotten her sword fouled in her shield’s straps, but there had been others who had failed somewhat less spectacularly. She just needed practice.

            Which led her to her current predicament. She’d been looking for a smaller, more secluded training yard so that she wouldn’t have to fumble about in front of two dozen other young men and women, many of whom had been soldiers before being hired on to replace the palace’s sadly diminished defenses. They’d been the ones who had snickered behind her back as a healer tried to staunch the blood flowing down her forearm and their sergeant had implored the Maker, loudly and at length, to save him from “shit spattered country bumpkins.” So today—on one of their precious rest days—she’d risen early (not a problem for a woman used to rising at cock’s crow), grabbed her training sword and shield, and headed in the direction that she’d been told held smaller “private” practice areas. And now she was lost.

            Pushing herself off of the wall, she turned to try and retrace her steps when she heard the now-familiar sound of steel against wood. Someone, somewhere nearby, was doing pell work. Very _fast_ pell work. She followed the sound down the corridor, turning a corner to find that she’d simply given up too soon. There _was_ a yard down here. It was small, just a square courtyard with two pells set against each wall, clearly meant for little more than individual drill work. The man there had his back to her and she watched, fascinated, as he ran through a series of shield and sword drills at easily twice the speed she’d seen the senior guardsmen practicing at. The speed was all the more impressive because—at least in her experience—men who were built like they could be hitched to a plow were typically slow, stolid types. There was nothing slow or stolid about the way this man moved and she felt her cheeks flush as part of her noticed how fascinatingly his light linen shirt clung to his back.

            “I don’t bite, you know.”

            Tamra jumped slightly as the man she’d been watching suddenly spoke. She hadn’t realized that he’d noticed her. He’d stopped his drill and turned slightly to grin at her. She found herself grinning back. He was young, not much older than she was, and he had the Redcliffe crest on his shield. One of the Arl’s men, then? Probably a freeholder’s son, judging by his outfit. The shirt was decent quality, but she could see where it had been patched several times and his boots were serviceable but very well worn. He probably sent most of his pay back home.

            He nodded his head toward one of the empty pells. “Join me? There’s plenty of room, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of company. I’m usually the only one out here this early, so it would be a nice change.”

            She quailed, briefly. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself, but…making a fool of herself in front of one man was definitely better than making a fool of herself in front of two dozen. And he seemed nice enough.

            She nodded and he gave her another grin before turning back around and resuming his drills. He had a nice smile.

            Well. Nothing for it but to get started. She moved to the next empty pell and unslung her shield, glancing out of the corner of her eye as she did so. It looked like the young soldier was completely focused on his own practice. Frankly, he’d have to be at those speeds. Maker, he wasn’t even breathing hard. Sighing, she turned herself to the task of wrestling the shield onto her arm and tightening the strap without smashing herself in the face. One bloody nose this week was quite enough, thank you. Once she got the blighted thing in place she unsheathed her sword and took up a guard position before slowly—very slowly—starting the sword drill her instructors had been trying to pound into her head all week. The goal, she reminded herself, was to focus on keeping the shield up where it could do some good, but out of her own way. Don’t focus on force right now, just focus on form.

            In fact, she was so focused that when she felt a light touch on her shoulder some time later she shrieked and just about jumped out of her skin. Whipping around, she saw the saw the young man standing behind her looking ever so slightly embarrassed, hands up in a placating gesture. She felt herself flush and wished, not for the first time in her life, that it was possible to sink right into the ground. 

            “Sorry! Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He really did look apologetic. It was sweet.

            “No, it’s alright I was just…” she gestured vaguely with her shield, face burning.

            He nodded, as if what she’d said had made perfect sense, and she felt a rush of gratitude. Here, at least, was one soldier that wasn’t dead set on making her feel stupid.

            “I was just wondering…you’re one of the new guard recruits, right?” He tilted his head slightly. “Have you ever worked with a shield before?”

            Grimacing, she shook her head. “No. I joined because the recruiters said they were looking for experienced archers. My family keeps sheep, so I’ve been carrying a bow ever since I was old enough to draw one. Never laid a hand on any other weapon until I got here.” She snorted. “As if that’s not obvious.”

            “If it makes you feel any better, a friend of mine tried to teach me to shoot once. I was, in her words, ‘utterly hopeless.’ Would you mind some advice?” Again, that smile. Andraste’s ass, where did a man that size get off having dimples?

            “Please. It can’t possibly hurt.”

            He shifted around behind her, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. “You’re holding the shield too low and too close to your chest. Here.” Gently, he guided her arm into a slightly different position. “This is about where you want to keep it. If you’re used to a bow you’re going to need to build up a slightly different set of muscles. Can you feel the difference?”

            Nodding, she tried to swallow. It seemed that her mouth had gone unaccountably dry. Why didn’t they have farm boys like this back home? Did Redcliffe just have superior breeding stock?

            “Now, I want you to lower it and then try and get it back into the same place.”

            She obliged and again a very large, very warm hand guided her arm into a slightly better position.

            “Again.”

            The shield went down. The shield came up. He smelled like clean sweat, soap, and metal.

            “There! You’ve got it!” He came around to stand in front of her. He was, of course, grinning. She felt herself blush. Again. Maker help her.

            She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, when someone clearing their throat behind her made her jump. She was doing that a lot today. She turned and saw a well-dressed man standing near the entrance to the corridor looking equal parts amused and irritated.

            Stiffening, the soldier turned to gather his weaponry. “Good morning, Teagan. You’re up rather early.”

            “Yes, well, we have an early meeting today, if you would recall. Imagine my surprise when I went to gather you and found you nowhere in evidence.”

            A chagrined look crossed the young man’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it had gotten that late.”

            Tamra watched the exchange, her confusion building. Why would a soldier be meeting with a nobleman?  Unless…was he a knight?

            “It actually isn’t all that late. I just seemed to recall someone grousing about no one being willing to spar with him and thought that I could do them a favor. But,” here the nobleman smirked, “it looks like you found some company on your own?”

            She was shocked to see the big swordsman blush a brilliant red. “She’s one of the most recent batch of guard trainees. I was just helping her with her shield work.”

            “Oh?” The nobleman looked amused.

            "Maker’s breath, Teagan,” the man growled, still flushed red.

            The nobleman laughed, but quickly sobered. “Truly, though, Alistair, you can understand why I might have been a bit upset to be unable to locate you.”

            Out of the corner of her eye she saw the larger man freeze, a strange look crossing his face. Alistair? That…wasn’t a common name. Tamra felt a creeping sense of dread.

            The man—Alistair—sighed, slinging his shield onto his back. “I know. Can I just…?”

            The nobleman’s expression softened. “Of course. I’ll see you later.” He turned his gaze to Tamra and bowed slightly. “I am sorry for the interruption, miss.” And then he was gone.

            Shaken, she turned to look at the man standing next to her. He looked back, his expression shuttered and she found herself thinking that she much preferred him smiling.

            Dropping her eyes, Tamra began to bow. “Your…”

            “Please.” His hand reached out and stopped her, settling loosely around her upper arm. Still gentle, but his hand was much colder now. “Please don’t.” He sounded so sad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I just wanted…” He trailed off, his hand dropping to clench at his side.

            She knew the story. Everyone knew the story. But she hadn’t known he was so young. She risked a glance up at him and she felt a pang in her chest. And she didn’t think anyone knew he was so lonely.

            Taking a deep breath, she reached out. When her fingers touched his hand he started slightly, eyes snapping up to look at her.

            She met them and tried a wavering smile, her heart pounding with anxiety. “My name is Tamra. Thank you for helping me, Alistair.”

            He stared at her for a moment, surprised. “I was happy to.” He paused and looked away. She was, again, astonished to see him flush. From this close she could see that he blushed all the way to the roots of his hair. “I’m here most mornings. If you want somewhere quiet to practice.”

            “I think I’d like that. I have to be in training most days, but…it would be nice to have somewhere to come on rest days.”

            His eyes came back up to meet hers again, and he smiled. Complete with dimple.


End file.
